


The Vacation

by itsybitsyish



Category: Good Omens, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Kitten, London, Lower Tadfield, Multi, Other, Pet, Travel, Trip - Freeform, United Kingdom, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsybitsyish/pseuds/itsybitsyish
Summary: I just want to take a moment and thank you all for taking the time to read this story, it means a lot. And, thank-you especially to everyone leaving kudos and comments.You're all grand!





	1. Chapter 1

  
Dean hadn't ever actually given any real thought into traveling beyond the country of his birth, while Sam was the opposite, and had often daydreamed of exploring far off lands, meeting other kinds of people, and learning new things.

Still, Sam hadn't truly considered going anywhere.

For the Winchesters, life didn't afford them those kinds of luxuries; they had a serious job to do, and they'd resigned themselves to the fact that their major priority was hunting -- everything else came second.

This was why when a weary Castiel had suggested they take a vacation, the reaction he'd been met with hadn't been as positive as he'd hoped.

It's just not something that's possible, Cas." Dean pointed out, though he felt it was obvious.

"Dean, it's far from impossible. Besides, you and Sam deserve to enjoy your lives before they're over." Castiel told him, his blue eyes looking seriously into Dean's green ones. "You need to."  
"Sam and I knew what we were getting into back when we first started this. Besides, vacations are for families, people tryin' to get laid, or old people." Dean replied a little distractedly, turning over the porkchops he was frying up for lunch.

Sam leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at Castiel with consideration. "I mean, maybe we could get away for just a little while... Could be nice."  
Dean shot him a look, and he held up his hands.  
"Hey, I'm with Cas on this one. Haven't you ever wanted to get a taste of what our lives could've been? To at least get to pretend to be normal, even if it isn't for long? The world's not going to end just because we weren't there to save it. Well, _probably_ not..." Sam cleared his throat, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. "Come on, Dean. Let's have some fun for once."

Dean closed his eyes, doing his best to be patient. Which wasn't easy, since this wasn't shaping up to be a good day for him.

Castiel noticed the meat beginning to burn. "You might want to take care of that, Dean."

Dean frowned and swore, hastily flipping the chops. "Oh well, you always liked them a bit burnt, didn't you?" He asked Sam, who gave a shrug.  
"Looks fine to me." Sam answered, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. 

He'd pretended to like having certain things burnt ever since Dean had begun learning to cook, because those were the things Dean usually did end up burning. Even yet.

  
Dean spooned the onion mixture onto the meat, wanting any talk of pleasure trips to be finally over.  
He knew better than to think the conversation was over, however.

"Look, if you want to do this thing, fine." Dean told Sam, before looking at Castiel. "But, I can't. It's not that I don't want to. I do. I just... Hunting isn't something I can just put a hold on, you know? I need it as much as the blood pumping through my veins."

  
He covered the pan with a plate, before turning down the heat and sitting on the countertop island.  
"Sammy, if you can do that, I'm glad. Honestly. Go ahead, find yourself a sunny beach and a blonde bunny and have a good time. Just bring me back a souvenir, huh?" Dean said, .

  
Sam frowned, his forehead adorned once again with the wi-fi symbol. "Come on, Dean. It'd be great. We could go anywhere you want."

Dean blinked. It had never been easy saying no to Sam.

"Please, Dean." Castiel said, his voice softer. Almost pleading.  
He knew what would happen if Dean kept going like this; he was working himself to death, and it wasn't something Castiel could bear.

He loved Dean too much to let him continue on to his death.

  
Dean had been keeping himself too busy ever since he hadn't been able to save Mary nearly a year ago.  
Sam had tried to get him to realise that it hadn't been his fault; that there had been no possible way to protect her, and that he was blameless.

  
Of course, Dean couldn't see it that way, even if he would've tried, and that was destroying him.

Dean pulled the pan and dished up the porkchops, adding a sprinkle of parmesan on top and taking his plate to the table, with Sam following suit.

After lunch, Castiel had taken Sam aside and discussed the matter more fully.

  
Sam had been worrying that what he'd been told would happen -- Dean was a self-destructive person, that was his nature, and this part of him was taking over his entirety.

  
He'd tried to get Dean to slow down a bit, but it hadn't had any lasting impact.  
With his suspicion confirmed, Sam's decision to persuade Dean to leave everything for a bit grew stronger.

  
It wasn't long after their conversation that Castiel had left in a rush, having an urgent matter to attend to.

Wondering what was up with Castiel, Sam went and did the dishes, before finding Dean in the den.

Dean had been watching a Rocky and Bullwinkle marathon, and had a couple of empty bottles of beer beside him.

  
"Hey, d'ya mind chucking me another beer?" Dean asked, moving his legs to give Sam room to sit.

  
"Yeah, give me a sec." Sam answered, having a craving for a carrot anyway.

Dean reached for the remote and turned the TV off.

  
Sam had looked confused, passing him a bottle of chilled Bedwizer and taking his seat.  
"Since when do you pass up a chance to watch Rocky and Bullwinkle?" Sam asked, taking a chomp of his carrot.  
Dean raised a brow. "When did I miss you turning into some kind of gigantic rabbit? I mean, salads are one thing, but going around nibbling at a carrot? Come on, dude." Dean asked, wondering where he'd picked this whole health habit up, because it sure hadn't been from him.

Sam took another bite, crunching as loudly as he possibly could.  
Dean rolled his eyes. "Wanna try that again? I can still hear outta this one." He gestured to the left side of his head.  
Sam couldn't help but chuckle, and actually considered another crunch.

"Look, Sammy... I get that you and Cas are getting a little worried." Dean said, popping the cap off of his beer with the opener from his keychain. "But, I'm fine. Honest. I mean, look at me; I'm doing my share of the chores, going on hunts... I'm running just fine.

Sam looked entirely unconvinced. "No, Dean, you're not. Especially the last couple of months; you've been losing weight, I hear you wandering around at night, I know you've been hunting alone even when we're on a case... Any downtime you should be using to take it easy, you've been burning as fast as you can, and it's literally killing you."

Dean's face turned dark. "Leave it alone, Sammy. I said I'm fine." But, then, he saw the tears welling in his brother's eyes, and he felt a stab of guilt. "I'm sorry. I just --"

Sam blinked away tears. "Will be taking a break, even if I have to shove you in a steamer trunk and drag you away from here? Yes, my thoughts exactly."

Dean licked his lower lip, realising this was a losing battle. If Sam didn't talk him into it, Cas would probably transport him, and that'd be way worse. Instant travel was a nightmare!

"I don't actually have any choice. Do I?" Dean asked in defeat, scratching the bridge of his nose.

Sam shook his head. "Not this time.

Dean sighed dramatically. "Fine, but I'm not going to like it." He sat up, taking a swig. "And, exactly where do you wanna go? Somewhere decent, I hope. Hey, Germany's supposed to have pretty awesome food. And, great beer."

Sam knew without a ghost of a doubt where he wanted to go -- it was a place he'd learnt about in the 3rd grade, when he'd been assigned a book report on either London or Glasgow; he'd ended up choosing London, simply because he'd liked saying the place's name.

He'd learnt about the Romans building it, then the city being burnt to a crisp by a Celtic Queen. That it's that largest city in the entire United Kingdom. About the tube, Tower Bridge not being called London Bridge, and double decker buses.  
Sam had been fascinated! He'd spent months afterward learning as much as he could about it; It had been the first place he'd ever wanted to travel to, and having a chance to see it at last was something that was difficult to pass up.

Still, if Dean wanted to go to Germany, then that's where they'd go. As far as Sam was concerned, the trip was for Dean, not himself.

"Germany? Sure, yeah, sounds good." Sam agreed, putting a hand behind his head. "Let's do that."

"What, you're gonna to just go with the first suggestion? Come on, Sammy, where'd you wanna go? Somewhere with a famous library or something, I'll bet." Dean thought for a moment, touching his lips with a thumb. "That sounds like an Italian thing, big famous libraries... Yeah, I'm going to go ahead 'n call Italy."

Sam smiled. "Yeah, I totally agree that Italy, does sound like something Italy would have, but I don't want to go there. Well, I do, but it's not where I have in mind. You actually did have the library part right - it's the Reading Room Of the British Museum, and it's incredible!"

Sam looked so happy as he began telling him all about the library, which sounded painfully boring to Dean, who'd rather sprain an ankle than go to a library for 'fun'.

It was good to see his brother being enthusiastic about something he enjoyed, even if the topic was less than interesting.

"Aaand, you don't care about any of this, do you?" Sam asked, realising how much he'd said. Still, Dean didn't look bothered by it.

"Not in the slightest. But, I'm glad you're able to get a kick out of it." Dean responded, finishing off his beer in one go. "And, where is this library? I get that it's English, but..."

"London. And, if you want meat and beer, I really think you'll like the pubs there." Sam told him.

Then, his mind suddenly filled with the few tv shows he followed that were set in London -- and he realised that he could visit the different areas they'd filmed. 

And, suddenly his want to go suddenly felt a _need_ to go there.

But, then he remembered that this shouldn't be his choice to make.

"I wonder what sort of libraries they have in Germany." Sam swayed the conversation, focusing. "I'd be good with pretty much anywhere, to be honest... I just think it's cool we're going somewhere."

Dean wasn't fooled. "Yeah?" He asked, getting up and grabbing another beer, before all but flopping back onto the couch.

"Yeah." Sam answered, going for nonchalant.

"'Cause I was thinkin' that London sounded pretty decent. And, HEY! I just remembered that Dr. Sexy's from there! imagine walking into him doing something regular people do, like ordering a burger or taking the bus or whatever... That dude is _so_ good with an American accent, but hear him with his real one and it's like --" Dean stopped talking for a second, looking flustered. "It's just _that_ is talent right there, Sammy. Probably takes years to perfect..."

Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway, London seems like a cool place, and I think we should go."

Sam bit back a grin, pretending not to notice the blush to Dean's cheeks. "But, what about Fizzneyland? I mean, we're not kids anymore, but remember how much you wanted to go back then? You even tried talking dad into it that one summer."

Sam immediately regretted saying this.

  
"And, then he went and bought us a crappy third-hand swing set and slide, telling us it'd be just as much fun." Dean recalled with a twinge of bitterness. It was one of maybe a handful of things he'd ever asked his father for, none of which he'd been given. "I wanted to meet Boofy so bad. Oh, man... Remember my pup?"

Those memories were bittersweet.

One day, after a long day at school, Dean had picked him up, with a fat, wriggly brown puppy tucked away in his jacket.

The pup barely fit, and Dean's zipper was only two-third's zipped.

The walk home had been a happy one, with talk of names and where it was going to sleep.

Dean had been so sure that if his father were to see how well he could take care of the dog, that he'd be able to keep it and wouldn't be as lonely.

And, during the month and a half John had been away, Dean had housebroken Boofy, kept her fed and watered, exercised her, and made had taught her basic commands like sit and stay.

For his age, he was exceptionally responsible most of the time. 

He'd found a good place to nick kibble from, so Boofy was never hungry.

Although, her meals had consisted of his own food for the first few days, not that she'd minded. 

She'd split her nights between the brothers, cuddling warmly up to them and occasionally becoming playful and silly.

There had been a few wonderful nights where there had been much less sleeping, and a lot more giggling and running about the cabin with glee as they chased one another.

Anyone watching would've had a difficult time working out just who was having the most fun -- Sam, Dean, or Boofy.

They'd adored her, and she'd adored them in turn.

Sam remembered having had more than a few cries into her side, as she nuzzled against his head until he stopped, and then she'd grab her favourite toy and bring it to him.

Not to play, but as a comfort.

  
She'd make sure to be there, if anyone was upset or hurt. Especially if there were tears. Even when she was squeezed just a little too tightly.

Boofy had been such a sweet puppy, and both Sam and Dean wondered what had happened to her. And, what sort of dog she'd grown into.

But, then, John had come home, and there hadn't been any chance of keeping her.

And, they'd both known it deep down.

Even though Dean had done well with her, a dog hadn't been allowed.

The rule was strict, even if there had never been any kind of explanation.

Sam had never seen Dean break down as he had when John had taken Boofy and driven her away without a word.

Dean had cried for a long time, before going to his bed and staying there for days.

That had badly scared Sam. He'd thought maybe his brother was dying, he seemed so sick.

Fortunately, John had stayed to take care of Dean for a while, before going off again.

"Yeah, I remember." Sam answered softly, playing with his hands.

Dean licked his bottom lip. "Yep... That was messed up." He took another drink. "Nah, I don't think Fizzneyland's gonna do it for me, how about you?"

"Nah." Sam said, giving a half-smile.

  
"Besides, there's some seriously dark shit around them, anyway." Dean stated, having become so desperate last month to keep his mind occupied that he'd read a book which had included a lot of interesting details about the place.

Sam nodded. "True."

"Look, Sammy, I don't really give a crap where we end up. I don't want to go... just pick wherever, okay?" Dean sounded tired. "Actually, know what, anywhere that's warm. 

Sam could almost swear that the dark spots beneath Dean's eyes and gotten just a little darker since that morning. "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had left before Sam had awakened, a thing which had become common weeks ago.

Sam could tell that he hadn't even had breakfast. Again.

If Dean had, then there would be a small, sticky puddle of coffee on the countertop.

  
See, Dean _never_ had breakfast without coffee. Or, would just have coffee as breakfast. And, whenever he stirred his coffee, he never failed to spill just a little bit of it. And, the countertop was spotless.

It was as Sam was having breakfast that Castiel had appeared, taking the seat across from him at the table a bit stiffly.

He looked rumpled somehow, and it made Sam wonder what was going on with him.

"Good morning, Sam." He greeted a little tiredly, considering the lemons in the center of the table.

He took one, sniffing it before gently setting it gently back. "I loved lemons as a human. Once, Dean and I shared a lemon meringue pie."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You're telling me he shared pie?" He asked incredulously, before thinking that this only cemented his suspicions about Dean having a thing for Castiel.

Castiel looked mildly offended. "I'm not lying to you, Sam." He stated, sounding a little hurt. "No, no, that's not what I was meaning at all."

Sam explained. "It's just that I've never seen him share pie with anyone. Ever. That's, like, an achievement."

Castiel's lips turned upwards into a subtle smile. "Have you been able to change Dean's mind about going?" 

Sam swallowed a mouthful of cereal. "He still doesn't want to go, but at least he's willing. We're going to London."

Castiel looked relieved. "I am glad to hear that." He said, as Sam quickly checked a text from Dean, who was apparently not going to be home for a few days.

Sam shook his head, feeling a mixture of worry and frustration.

"What is it?" Castiel asked with a frown.

"Dean's gone off somewhere again." Sam said, clearing his throat. "He leaves, and I can't help worrying whether he's coming home; whether he's going to just not come back, or if... He's not himself. Not below the surface. And, I haven't been able to do anything to help."

Castiel didn't know what to say. When he thought he did, it too often turned out he didn't know the right words after all.

"Uh, we'll -- We'll be going to London, and I've been checking out hotels, different areas to visit, that sort of thing." Sam said, swallowing hard. "Ever been there?"

Castiel nodded. "Many times." He responded, looking pensive.

Sam waited for Castiel to continue, but the angel missed the cue. "Did you like it?"

"I try to avoid London." Castiel said lowly. "It's too close to Tadfield; a mortal enemy of mine is known to frequent the area."

It was then that Castiel went still and his expression went sombre. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I need to leave." He said, his tone one of urgency.

He looked worried as he disappeared and Sam was alone. Except for Kitty, of course.


	3. Chapter 3

Alone in the bunker, with nothing that interesting to do, Sam left the bunker for nowhere in particular.

His mind wandered as much as his feet did, while a creature followed him from a distance.

Sam didn't notice the scraggly little matt of fur at first, as he followed a dirt path which crossed an empty field.

  
But, when he'd knelt down to retie his loosening bootlace, the thing had come just close enough that Sam saw it out of the corner of his eye. He doubted it was dangerous.

The poor thing was in need of a bath and lots of brushing -- he could barely tell it was a kitten, what with all the leaves, dirt, and matted fur.

It had to be about three or four months old. 

Sam faced away from it, and sat down.

He'd had success in the past with this method, with only two cats still too wary to at least come close enough for a brief sniff.

As expected, soon the kitten had approached him, looking interestedly at the cuff of his right sleeve.

Sam didn't make a move, watching it as it continued to cautiously explore the waist of his jacket, before climbing awkwardly up his leg and falling into his lap.

The poor thing was suffering from exhaustion, with starvation having begun to settle in and dehydration swiftly approaching.

"Hey there." Sam gently said, slowly taking a single finger and stroking the kitten's side with the back of it.

The kitten leaned against his abdomen and closed its eyes.

Sam carefully picked it up, nestling it into the crook of his arm, before heading back home.

Meanwhile, Dean was driving the Impala down the highway toward Olathe.

He hadn't planned on taking off like this. But, then, that often was the way with these trips.

When things became too much, his instincts said to go off on his own in sombre isolation.

Besides, Sam didn't need to see him like this.

Dean let out a sigh.

Not even music helped anymore. He hadn't listened to it in a long time.

Feeling his temper begin to flare, he pulled over to the side of the road and shut the engine off.

He got out of the car, going to the front and leaning his butt against the hood.

He took his phone out, thinking about calling Sam.

Dean started to dial, but then felt a pang of frustration and shoved the phone back into his shirt pocket.

Swearing profusely, he got back in the car and put his hands on the wheel. He focused on breathing; just a breath in, and a breath out...

It was all he could manage to do for a little while.

Then, he turned the engine over, and peeled out back onto the road.

The kitten was no longer quiet and still. Now, it was shrilly crying and trying to wriggle out of Sam's gentle grip.

"Really? You were fine two minutes ago." Sam said, avoiding a hole in the path. "You're gonna be okay."

The kitten, if it understood any sort of message from this, continued its frustrated struggle regardless.

Sam rubbed the kitten's ear, trying to soothe or at least distract it.

He'd softly kept speaking to it, trying to keep it calm, as he tried to smoothly hurry back.

Multiple bites with those needle-like teeth were inflicted upon him, along with a few good scratches, and while these weren't exactly beastly attacks, they were becoming annoying and painful.

It was a good fifteen minutes later, but he got them into the bunker and into the kitchen without too much more fuss.

Sam grabbed the towel that had been hanging on the oven door and laid it on the countertop, before setting the kitten down. "Good kitty." He practically cooed.

He gave it a once over, searching for any injuries or ticks. "A girl, huh?" Sam asked, giving her neck a bit of a rub.

  
Beyond rough footpads, and a scrape on its chin, there didn't seem to be any injuries.

He'd been concerned about her tail at first, before wondering if she was part manx with that strange 'C' shaped tail. 

Bobby used to have a half-tabby, half-manx cat named Pancake; he thought he ruled the place, and was an absolute bastard to everyone except Bobby.

He'd had a tail almost exactly like this kitten's.

Having had more than enough of this, she miaowed particularly loudly, seeming to force whatever energy she had left into it, sides caving in as she did. Seemingly unsatisfied that this conveyed her feelings well enough, she repeated herself with more hoarseness for emphasis.

Sam smiled, taking this as a good omen.

He opened a cupboard, taking out a bowl and filling it a quarter of the way with water, setting it on the counter in front of the kitten.

Without hesitation, the kitten began drinking.

She sneezed a few times, having stuck her nose straight into the liquid.

"Whoa, take it easy." Sam said, wetting a corner of the towel and wiping off some of the filth which clung to the short, rough hair.

She didn't approve of his coming so close to _her_ water, and she let out a funny sort of growl.

He laughed, and took a step back to give her space. She glowered at him a little more, before going back to drinking.

Once she was finished, Sam ran some warm water in the sink, adding a small amount of dish soap.

Then, he slowly lowered the kitten into it, much to her angry protestations.

It took patience and a lot of time, more soap and water, and a good drying, but when it was all done, Sam could see that the kitten wasn't mainly gray and brown at all -- in fact, she was a calico with almost no gray, and no brown at all.

Her long hair was now tangle free, soft, and clean -- she looked like an entirely different being.

After bathing her, Sam grabbed a medium sized cardboard box from the kitchen recycling closet, and brought it and the cat into the living room.

He sat the box down on the couch, and took his shirt off, arranging it into a sort of small nest.

"What do I do with you now, huh?" He asked, putting her inside. "I mean, I don't like the idea of dropping you off at a shelter, but you can't stay here. It's not as if I know anyone who could really take care of you..."

Sam licked his lower lip in thought.

"Still, I don't suppose it'd hurt to keep you around for a couple of days. So, maybe I should give you a temporary name, like... I don't know..."

The kitten snuggled into the warm fabric, and Sam put a sleeve over her.

He wondered how could anything be so cute, as he booped her nose very gently.

"I suppose Kitty works just as well as anything else." 


	4. Chapter 4

It was close to 03:00 when Dean awoke on a motel bed feeling overly warm, kind of gross, and a bit sick.

He blinked a few times, getting his eyes to focus, and started to recall a vague something of what had happened the previous night -- there had been some asshole at the jukebox playing the same dang Tom Jones song over and over, before giving it a rest for precisely _one_ fucking song, but that was at the first bar.

Then, there was an... Um... Wait just a second...

Oh.

_Oh, no._

Dean looked around the room, and sure enough, there was a naked woman laying next to him.

And, her guy friend passed out on the chair.

Well, apparently cannabis and alcohol were a potent mix, because there was no way in hell he'd have agreed to a three-way unless he was massively impaired. 

Dean had long had the fantasy, though he couldn't get beyond old trust issues.

And, yet, here he was... At least what he could remember was pretty good. Dean hoped it stayed that way.

He scratched his scalp, before pulling on his jeans a bit too quickly.

The woman stirred.

Dean very carefully stood up, and grabbed his shoes and shirt before heading out the door.

As he sat in the Impala, he couldn't deny it any longer -- He was trying to run away from what had happened in too many ways, and he was shredding himself to scraps. 

His coping methods weren't exactly stellar, but they'd always seen him through in the past.

Not this time.

As much as he hated to admit it, Castiel and Sam were right. And, he'd already agreed to the stupid trip, anyway.

He let out a growl of frustration, and started back to Lebanon.

As he drove, the urge to turn the car back around made itself felt more and more.

He didn't want to go to London. A place filled with people who drank tea and ate scones, and practically wet their pants over the royals.

What did he care?

Maybe Sam would pick somewhere else, but after how he'd spoken place earlier, Dean had a feeling that wasn't going to happen.

He blinked, trying to clear his head. 

He wasn't strictly sober, but figured at this hour that if anyone would get hurt or worse, it'd be just himself.

And, Dean was fine with that.

Dean couldn't help but feel like Sam deserved to go, even if it would be a wasted opportunity.

Fine, London, then. If Sam had chosen somewhere else, he'd talk him out of it.

Sam thought he'd heard Dean walking down the hall, and he sat up.

"Hey, Dean? Are you actually back?" He called out, wondering if he was actually still dreaming.

Kitty fuzzed her fur and looked terrified, deciding whether to hide or flee.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry.." He murmured to her, going to cuddle her with a hand, but getting swiped at for his efforts.

"Who're you talking to, Sammy?" He asked as he stood in the doorway, brow raised.

"Oh, just a girl." He answered, getting out of bed with the kitten against his chest. "You know me."

He turned the lamp on, and went over to the doorway.

Dean made a surprised noise, and looked unsure.

"So, what, is this supposed to be a de-stressor, or something?" Dean asked, crossing his arms uncomfortably. "Because, you know how I feel about cats."

"Actually, I found her while I was out walking. She didn't look good, Dean." Sam answered. "If I hadn't brought her back, something probably would've killed her."

"You brought her back here when you could've driven her to the pound?" Dean asked, taking a slightly closer look.

Sam shrugged. "I just figured it might be nice to have some company for the next few days, that's all. Besides, the closest shelter isn't a no-kill one. I couldn't take her there."

The kitten purred as Sam rubbed the top of her head lovingly.

"I mean... If you wanted to, you know, keep the cat, I guess I'd be okay with it." Dean managed, half-regretting what he'd said. "You know, if you really wanted to."

"There's no way that'd work out. We're always on the road, and I couldn't take her along." Sam replied, looking back at him.

"Sure, it would." Dean said. "Look, I've thought about getting a dog for the past seven years. Figured out ways of keeping one safe, even on hunts. I never have because I've lost too many I've loved... And, even if I kept a dog safe, I'll still outlive it. I've already seen too much death, and there's more to come."

Sam pressed his lips together, a pit forming in his stomach.

"I've got a notebook of different permanent spells, charms, sigils, and stuff." Dean said, before heading down the hall to his room, grabbing it from the drawer of his bedside table. "Here, see for yourself. In fact, if you keep it, that cat will have more protection than you do without any weapons."

Dean glanced down at the kitten, before nodding, and saying good-night to Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

It was nearly afternoon when Sam got out of bed, having been able to get some quality sleep for a change.  
Groggily, he got to his feet, realising he'd made a mistake last night -- he'd brought water, food, and a makeshift litter pan for the kitten, but then hadn't shut the door.

He moaned, hoping she hadn't gone to wreak too much havoc.

Sam had a quick shower, before getting dressed and heading down to the kitchen to have some fruit and a PB&J.  
But, he'd found that Dean had already made him breakfast, and it was being kept warm on the stovetop.

"Morning, sunshine." Dean greeted, doing his best to sound as if he actually had energy.

"Morning." Sam said back, taking the lid off the saucepan to discover sunflower, peanut butter, and apple oatmeal.  
He began dishing up. "Thanks, it looks good."

Sam tasted it, before sitting down at the table. Dean remained standing.

"So, I was thinkin'." Dean began, taking a slurp of his now lukewarm coffee. "This whole planning a trip thing seems like a pain in the ass, why don't we just wing it? Pack a bag, get the next tickets, and get the hell outta here?"  
Sam nearly choked. "Could you just repeat that, I'm not sure I got that right."  
Dean rephrased what he'd said, and Sam nodded.  
"Okay, I got it the first time after all..." Sam said in surprise. "I'll have to figure out what to do with the kitten..."

"I know a guy who can take her." Dean said. "For a while, anyway. Not that we'll be gone that long. It's just if we're going to go, we might as well just do it. Unless you had some sort of elaborate thing planned, I don't know." Dean told him, having already packed his backpack around 05:00.

"I guess you're right." Sam agreed. "It's more 'us' to wing it, anyway."

"Speaking of, I want to grab some from Dig's before we head out on the highway." Dean said, his mouth watering at the suggestion of wings.

"You know what? So do I." Sam said, thinking that maybe he would keep the kitten if nobody claims her. If we can keep her safe and give her a good home, then why not?"

Dean gave a nod. "Okay, but you're seriously going with 'Kitty?'

Sam looked down at her. "I'd like to think I'm not quite that dull." He said, trying to settle on a name, and then it hit him. "Sadie."

"Sadie... Pretty sure the first stripper who gave me a lap dance was named Sadie." Dean said, smiling at the memory. 

"Okay, Jeannie it is. And, don't you dare say anything to sully that name, Dean." Sam said.

Dean laughed, and slid a cassette into the player for the first time in months, turning the volume up while being mindful of the kitten's sensitive ears. 

Sam had struggled a bit with packing a bag.

What did people bring on vacations, anyway? He didn't think he needed anything specific, really. Or, did he?

In the end, his bag was pretty light, and he felt ridiculous for taking nearly an hour to pack a few changes of clothes and some toiletries.

Dean had dropped Kitty off where she'd be staying until , unless the owner came for her.

He and Dean had caught the tri-weekly bus that went through town, saying nothing as they traveled to the airport a couple of hours away.

The knots in Dean's stomach only became tighter as they drew closer, his hatred of flying only surpassed by Castiel's time warp when it came to methods of travel.

  
At least there'd be booze on the flight. Hopefully, he wouldn't remember the trip too well.

The bus had gotten them there faster than Dean would've liked, and checking in didn't take long, and so they were on the plane fairly soon.  
As he sat in the seat next to Sam, he shut his eyes and tried to focus on breathing.  
That had been something Sam had tried to get him working on for years -- breathing, meditation, the whole hippy bit.  
And, recently, he did finally try the breathing exercises to find they had actually helped. At least, sometimes they did.  
Right now, they were doing zilch.  
"It's going to be fine, try not to worry." Sam told him, ordering champagne as a flight attendant approached.  
Sam thanked the man, as the plastic glasses were passed to each of them in turn.

"If we're going to fly first class, may as well enjoy the perks." Sam said, as Dean downed his in one go. "I know you're nervous, but maybe slow down enough to taste the champagne?"  
Dean licked his lower lip in stress. "How long is this flight again?"  
"Uh, eight or nine hours..." Sam answered, wondering if maybe this was about to become a big mistake.  
The engine sounds grew louder as the pilot prepared to start their journey.  
"Heh, yeah, you know what? I'm good. I'm fine. Let's forget about the whole thing and go back home, huh, Sammy?" Dean's words were tinged with desperation.  
"It's too late, Dean." Sam told him, keeping his tone calm and even. "We have to stay on board, but everything's going to be fine."  
Dean made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "D'you know how many planes drop straight out of the air each year? How many disappear off the map?" He said, getting loud.  
"Sh! Dean, sit back down." Sam pleaded, as a different flight attendant came over.

"The fasten seatbelt sign is lit, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to sit down, please. And, remain calm." She informed Dean, a look of pity on her face. "I used to have a fear of flying, too. Still do, a little. But, I've flown more than two hundred times now, and it's all been good."

"You realise that every time you fly, it becomes riskier, right?" Dean asked her, and the woman's eyes widened slightly.

"Please, just remain calm and stay in your seat." She repeated, trying to be calm herself.

Dean swallowed hard, and sat back down in defeat. "We're gonna die."  
Sam leaned against the window. "No, we're not, Dean." He said, passing him a blanket he'd unwrapped. "Here."  
Dean took it, letting it sit on his lap, as Sam found himself drifting into sleep already.  
Dean put his complementary sleep mask on, and did his best to clear his mind. It didn't work very well at first, but a few hours later he was snoring loud enough to annoy other passengers.


	6. Chapter 6

It didn't seem possible, but Dean had slept through the entire flight. Sam had actually needed to wake him.  
Somehow, he was still tired. 

As they stood on the human conveyer belt, Sam nearly tingled with excitement.  
Dean yawned. "They better have good burgers here." He said groggily.  
"Why don't we find out after getting booked into a hotel?" Sam asked.  
"That'll be a first, I think." Dean said, unable to remember ever staying in one.  
Yeah, I think so, too." Sam replied, stepping off the conveyer and heading towards the nearest Underground location.

They'd taken a cab to the Imperial Duchess, a newly reopened hotel with a different take -- the atmosphere was very casual, prices were fair, and there were themed rooms for guests to book and view.  
The basement was an actual museum with skeletons, rocks and hardened lava, butterflies, and lots of other sorts of things one might find unappealing while others would go giddy.

The owners were Wiccan, and had wanted their hotel to be something special and comfortable to them, and to attract others like themselves.  
Of course, others were quite welcome.  
Lacy had proven that when she'd welcomed them cheerily, and then all but taken the bags from their hands with ease.  
Her muscles were well formed, and her frame was tall and thick. A real pro wrestler kind of had to be.

They'd followed Lacy into the black and purple lobby.  
A few small skulls on a round oak table sat in a corner of the room, and plants lined the reception divider.

"Good afternoon!" Sparrow greeted them with a warm smile as she introduced herself.  
Sam returned the smile, and self-consciously gave a little wave. He'd felt immediately embarrassed, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "We're gonna need a room with two beds. I'm not sure how long we'll be staying."  
Sparrow opened the booking log and picked up a pencil. "Do you prefer a room with a view?"  
"What kind of view are we talkin'?" Dean asked, licking his lower lip and checking her out  
She blushed uncomfortably.  
Lacy returned, drooping a hand over Sparrow's shoulder.  
"There's the river Thames on the west side of the hotel, and the east side overlooks the city." Lacy told him, giving Dean a look that clearly said 'this one's mine'.  
Dean cleared his throat. "What'd'ya say, Sammy?"  
Sam shrugged.  
Most people would consider the west side the better view, if that helps." Lacy said, trying to be helpful.  
"Sounds good to me." Sam said, looking at his brother.  
"Sure, west side it is." Dean agreed, as Lacy began looking at the list of available rooms.  
"All right, I've got a lovely two bedroom suite overlooking the river. And, you aren't sure how long you're staying, is that correct?" Sparrow asked for confirmation.  
"That's correct." Sam said with a nod.  
"I can book you into suite 42 for a week. The only thing is, the limit for booking a room is seven days, then you have to book again. Company policy, I'm afraid." Sparrow explained. "Sorry. I know, it's ridiculous."

"No worries, it's fine. If we need to rebook, then that's what we'll do. No problem." Sam replied.  
"Great!" Sparrow said, getting their personal information, and receiving payment for the week. "If you decide to leave early, we will refund whatever money is due to you at checkout. Would you like help with your bags?"  
"I'm good." Dean said.  
"Same here." Sam told her, grabbing his bags.

With that, they'd headed over to the glass elevator and up to their rooms.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean had promptly dropped his bags near the bedside table, flopping so heavily onto the bed that he'd bounced a couple of times.  
He sprawled out as much as he could, laying claim to the bed nearest the window, and covering his eyes with his arm.

"You're obviously beat, so how about you take it easy here and I'll check out the area?" Sam suggested, eager to explore.  
Dean gave a drowsy thumbs up. "Go for it, Sammy. Geek it up."  
Sam grinned, unable to believe that he was actually tingling with excitement. "Yeah, thanks. I'll see you later."  
He took a weathered backpack from his suitcase and put it on, before heading out.

The sun was warm as it came down in intermittent beams through the thick white clouds, and the air was nearly still.  
Sam wandered around, seeking nothing in particular; he went past shops and stands, parks and apartments, even down into a residential area.  
Eventually, he'd had to ask for directions back to the hotel, his mobile's batter drained; he couldn't remember the last time he'd lost his way so easily.

Walking further than he'd intended, Sam became drowsy.  
As he went along, he happened upon a beautiful park and went into it; there weren't many people there, and it seemed like just the place the rest for a while to decompress from the plane -- eight hours stuffed into an area not built for anyone tall hadn't leant itself to rest and relaxation.  
He found a tall tree with a thick trunk to lean against for a bit, and watched people go by at first.  
But, then his attention was drawn to the fountain -- he watched the water cascaded melodically down each of the three tiers, before joining the rest of it at the bottom.  
It was so deeply relaxing, and as time drew on, Sam was ever so softly slipping into daydreams.

The next thing he knew, he'd heard someone nearby talking, possibly to him.  
His eyes opened, and he blinked a few times -- he must've drifted off.  
"This is not at all the sort of place for a nap." A pale man in an off-white suit told him, offering a hand to help him up.  
Sam didn't want to accept it, though he did out of a sense of propriety.  
"Thanks." Sam said, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, you're more than welcome." The stranger told him genuinely, a smile on his face. "Now, I was about to go to lunch, would you care to join me?"  
Sam was unsure of what to think. "Uh, well..." He started, glancing at his watch and realising how late it had gotten and that he was actually rather hungry. "Sure. Why not?"  
The man looked pleased. "It's not far, only just round the corner." He loosely gestured to the right as he began walking, then stopped for a moment. "I'm Aziraphale." He said, shaking Sam's hand before they headed towards the place.  
Sam blinked. "Aziraphale." He repeated thoughtfully.  
"Yes, that's right." He said, his tone becoming one of growing interest. "And what would yours be?"  
"Sam." He answered.  
"It suits you." Aziraphale said, opening the door to the establishment and holding it for his guest.

Dean had awakened not long after Sam had left, and while he was tired, he couldn't sleep.  
He'd tried lying there miserably, being as still as he could possibly be; however, that didn't work out very well, because ever since he was a baby, he moved around a lot in bed. Like, _a lot_ a lot.  
And so, tossing and turning turned into frustrated wrestling with the blankets, and even falling out of bed once.

He gave up, and opened the curtains; the view was pretty nice.  
The only thing he wanted now was a woman and some whiskey. And, pizza. Definitely some pizza.  
Dean managed to get all but one -- female companionship for the night.  
Still, he hadn't exactly counted on getting laid, which meant he'd just watch some porn on his laptop.  
Something to eat, a bit to drink, a quick wank... Maybe he'd be able to get back to sleep after that.

While he was waiting on the pizza, he began on the full bottle of whiskey he'd ordered, watching the middle of 'Bright Young Things'.  
He sighed, trying not to shrink back into the darkness which was consuming him from the inside out.  
He took another swig, straight from the bottle.  
"Dang it, Cas." He said, wanting to be where he ought to be, and not here.  
He felt tears beginning to well in his eyes as everything started becoming too much again.

  
As he was about to change the channel to something more his speed, there a knock at the door.  
He wiped his eyes before answering the door and taking his pizza.  
"Thanks, dude." Dean said gratefully as he closed the door.  
He breathed in the heady aroma, and his stomach grumbled loudly. 

He sat on his bed, opened the box and began to eat; the pepperoni wasn't what he was used to, but it wasn't all that bad.

Pulling the blanket around him, almost like a cave, he bit into his fourth piece and watched the screen as He could feel the tension in his body begin to melt away, and he leaned back onto the ridiculous amount of pillows drowsily.

Dean took another bite of pizza, chewing slowly -- he'd barely finished swallowing before he'd fallen asleep with a partial piece of pizza clutched protectively in his right hand.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam had needed to put a jacket on before entering the dining room, and he'd felt badly out of place.

"Order whatever you like." He'd invited Sam, who fully intended to pay for his own meal.

"I know I was sleeping in the park, and sweats with a worn tee don't exactly help, but I'm all right, really. I'm not homeless -- I was tired from the trip here, that's all." Sam explained, as a blonde woman wearing a gaudy necklace gave him a filthy look.

"I can imagine." Aziraphale said, straightening his cutlery. "When did you arrive?"

"A couple of hours ago." Sam answered, as a server came by with their menus, which were written entirely in French.

As he stared at it helplessly, the server stood with a quietly snide look on his face.

"Would you mind if I ordered for you?" Aziraphale asked, and the relief must've shown on Sam's face, because the next thing he knew there was a quick exchange in French and the server had left with their menus beneath an arm.

"I'm sorry if that was uncomfortable for you, that hadn't been my intention." Aziraphale apologised, watching Sam, who tried to shrug it off.

"It's fine." Sam said, looking up at the ceiling to see a massive crystal chandelier. "So, do you usually take strangers to lunch?"

Aziraphale considered him for a moment, wanting to get to the root of the matter. "It's not a habit of mine, no. Do you know, Sam, that when a human comes into contact with an angel, there's permanent residual energy which clings to them?"

His voice was quiet, only loud enough for Sam to clearly hear.

"You, Sam, have quite a lot of it." Aziraphale said, watching his eyes.

Suspicion grew in Sam's mind as he considered what options he had if this went sideways.

"What I want to know is why." Aziraphale said, not wanting to leap to the conclusion that this had anything to do with Michael. If it was, then perhaps his world was about to come crashing down. Again.

After all, both Heaven and Hell still wanted their war. And, who knew how long it would be before there was another stab at it.

He didn't want to have to fight, but he would if he had to. 

"Who sent you?" Aziraphale asked, trying to soothe a shock anxiety as he fidgeted with the cloth napkin which sat on his lap.

"What?" Sam asked, caught completely off guard. " _Who sent me_? I'm just trying to have a vacation, that's all."

It was about then that the server came with their meals, setting a plate in front of each of them.

Sam looked down at his. "What is it?" He asked, as Aziraphale ignored his Foie Gras.

"Ratatouille."

"Huh, just like the cartoon..." Sam said before he'd realised it, picking up one of the forks.

Aziraphale didn't know what this was about, and quite frankly, didn't care.

He was becoming more unhappy the more he thought about things. Even his appetite was gone.

Had the finest crepe been set before him, Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to taste even a single bite.

Sam figured the food was safe, and gave it a try.

"What would it matter to you if I've met with an angel or two?" He asked, and Aziraphale sat up a bit more.

"Because, if you're here to play some role in drumming up another attempt at the apocalypse, then... Well, something will happen and you won't like it very much at all." Aziraphale said, trying to sound scarier than he was, which wasn't working very well.

Sam blinked. "Well, you don't need to worry about that, I'm pretty sure I want to summon the apocalypse about as much as you do."

After all he'd done alongside Dean to keep the apocalypse from happening in the past, being practically accused of wanting to begin it again was strange.

"Look, I'm honestly just here to relax." He added, wanting to make sure this guy got it and would leave him alone after this.

"Then, please, explain --"

Aziraphale was cut off by a couple being seated at a nearby table.

"About the angel dust?" Sam finished for him. 

Aziraphale listened carefully.

"Look, thanks for lunch, but that's my business." Sam said, getting up from his seat and going to pay his bill. "It's been fun."

Aziraphale had tried calling Crowley on his mobile phone -- the one he'd been talked into getting, and which was irrationally complicated

The ridiculous thing was no longer a phone, it was a poorly designed gadget in his opinion, and he'd have gladly rid himself of the inconvenience had he not promised to keep it.

After giving it a couple of good tries, Aziraphale had stuffed the phone back into his inner jacket pocket and covertly trailed Sam back to the hotel.

Making a mental note of the room number, he went down the street to use a payphone, calling Crowley.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley had been in the middle of carrying out the death sentence for one petrified polka dot plant that had found itself unable to grow, and therefore considered 'useless', when 'You're My Best Friend' rang out.

He'd set the plant aside on a nearby table, turning away from it and answering the call. "Aziraphale."

"Crowley, you must listen to me, I think there may be trouble ahead." Aziraphale told him, keeping his voice low. "I've just met a young man, an American, who's spent a lot of time around angels. Mostly around just one."

"Where are you?" Crowley asked, feeling a pang of dread.

"Just off of Douglas Avenue, I'm fine." 

"Well, stay there." Crowley told him. "I'm coming."

With that, Crowley slipped his mobile back into his inner jacket pocket. 

He turned on his heel, pointing at the tiny plant, whose mother had called 'Daisy'. "I'll see you later." He promised, leaving the room then and there.

"Right, what's going on?" Crowley asked Aziraphale from behind, giving him a start.

Aziraphale hung up the phone. "Oh, I wish you wouldn't do that!" He said, sounding petulant.

Crowley didn't bother to hide his grin. "Yes, sorry, I know." He said, hands in the air, his grin fading. "No, I know."

"That person I told you about is staying up the road, at the Imperial Duchess." Aziraphale said.

Crowley knew the place pretty well. "And, do you have the room number?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"Then, I suggest we go have a nice little chat with him." Crowley said solemnly, and started off.

Aziraphale momentarily hesitated, but then followed.

The door had been answered shortly after they'd knocked, though there had been a definite pause.

"What do you want?" Sam had asked, cautiously curious.

"We only want to talk." Aziraphale said. "That's all."

"How many of you are there?" Sam had asked in confusion, before Crowley had popped up.

"Sorry about that, had to check on something." Crowley said, looking from Aziraphale to the tall, shaggy haired man.

Sam didn't like the look of him. "Who the hell are you?"

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. "Well, that's a fine how'd'y'do." He complained. "Honestly, your lot can be so rude. I'm telling you, just absolutely r-- Hang on, who the hell are _you_?" 

Dean pointed at his chest, trying to figure this guy's deal out.

"Yeah, you, you're the only one standing on that side of the room!" Crowley replied, looking pained. "I mean, you've got a lot going on... Sure, you've both seen, I don't know, I'm guessing a dozen angels give or take a couple, and _hundreds_ of demons, which is enough in itself, but you --"

"Dean." 

"There's one angel who's given you a mark." Crowley finished, wanting very much to know the story behind this.

"And?" Dean asked, not in the mood to practice patience.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances, before turning back to the Winchesters.

"Who was it?" Crowley demanded, having grown much scarier within the span of mere seconds.

"Hey, who said you were the one getting to ask the questions here?" Dean asked, an edge to his voice as he readied himself for an attack. 

"Don't test me." Crowley said pointedly.

"Why the shades? Got something to hide?" Dean asked, not a doubt in his mind what the answer was.

Aziraphale didn't like this; those sunglasses that Crowley chose to wore were to hide his eyes from people, naturally, yet there was another motive -- they also functioned as a crutch.

Crowley had put his very first pair on with the intent of blending in.

They'd done a very good job of that, and of giving him a false sense of security.

He knew it was false, but it still helped.

Even around home, where he ought to feel his safest and most secure, Aziraphale often found Crowley wearing them.

"Who was it?" Aziraphale asked, asserting himself.

"Look, I don't know why this is a big deal to you and I don't see why I should care." Dean said, thinking that maybe these two would try coming after Cas.

"The thing is, an angel isn't meant to go doing this sort of thing. And, few would be able to muster the process -- leaving a mark requires parting with an amount of grace, the process of which isn't without a great deal of pain." Aziraphale explained, trying to be reasonable. "And, such an angel would have to be very high ranking to receive clearance."

"I don't know what you're getting at, but that was a long time ago." Dean said, clearing his throat.

Sam agreed. 

"Was it?" Aziraphale asked kindly, trying to change the atmosphere into something less tense. 

He turned to Dean. "I hope you don't mind, but if you could let me see it for just a moment? For verification."

"Is that what it's going to take for you be on your merry way?" He asked.

"Only one way to find out." Crowley said, and Dean shook his head.

He unbuttoned his shirt, taking his arm out to reveal the thickly scarred handprint which Castiel had left behind after lifting him up from Hell.

Crowley could see that it was years old. "We're done here." He said almost immediately after reaching out and touching it, with Dean jerking back and away from him. 

"What, just like that?" Aziraphale asked in confusion. 

Aziraphale stared at the mark. He'd never seen one of these before, had only heard about them.

"Just like that." Crowley said to him, regretting wasting his time with this.

"But, just a moment, Crowley --" Aziraphale said as Crowley began to leave. "We haven't even heard _how_ it happened."

"Come on, let's go, I'll tell you on the way." Crowley muttered to him quietly.

Aziraphale tilted his head. "And, how would you know?" He asked in surprise.

Crowley would have liked to have been able to snatch those very words out of the air, stuffing them straight back into Aziraphale's mouth.

"Because, I know the angel that did it." He answered, heading down the hallway.


	10. Chapter 10

"And, who would that be?" Sam asked, unable to keep from piping up at this.

"Castiel, the high and mighty bastard." They heard Crowley's voice trailing steadily off.

Sam and Dean looked at one another for a moment in surprise.

"Hey, wait!" Dean called down the hall, apologising as a couple of people opened their doors and glared at him. 

He jogged over to them. "How did you know that?" 

"Knew him way back." Crowley answered with a wave of his hand. "I'm familiar with what his grace feels like, and that mark radiates with it once you get close enough. It'd figure he'd go breaking the rules and being a daredevil, considering he was always so prim and proper before. Good for him! He's still an arsehole, no two ways around it."

Sam's eyes went wide. "Hold on, are you the 'arch enemy' he was talking to me about?" He couldn't keep from asking.

"Probably. He always was one for dramatics." Crowley answered, as Aziraphale stood there waiting for more details.

"What'd you do?" Dean asked, more than a little curious.

The left side of Crowley's mouth turned upward in amusement. "Are you sure you want to know? Can't take it back once I've gone and said it."

"Yeah!" Sam and Dean said in unison.

"Go on, Crowley, tell us!" Aziraphale said, becoming impatient.

"Castiel and I go back to our creation; we were born at roughly the same time, grew up together. Everything was all hunky-dory until one day, which just happened to be when Castiel was working on his first project, I stumbled. Fell right on the first turtle ever made, and pissed him right off! I'm quite nearly certain that was when I'd been declared his enemy. He was a jerk to me, I was a jerk to him. Nearly your run of the mill relationship, really." Crowley explained with a shrug. "You know, that, and I might've very possibly, if not entirely, ended up having to drag the first human he made to Hell. That more or less ended our friendship."

Aziraphale nodded. "That would do it."

Dean brushed away an eyelash from the corner of his eye. "Was it something you had to do?" He asked, finding himself wanting to know.

Crowley licked his upper teeth. "I was only just starting out, I had no choice... I didn't want to do it. I never wanted to do any of it." He said, going on a bit more than he was comfortable with. "Point is, yeah, I know Castiel. Yes, we're enemies. Now, if you don't mind, the two of us are going to fuck right off now."

Before they could so much as breathe, Crowley had turned around and Aziraphale was saying good-bye them, apologising profusely.


	11. Chapter 11

After it was just the two of them again, Dean looked at the card in Sam's hand.

The paper was obviously reused, but in a way that looked new, and the letters had been typed onto the multi-coloured card in brown ink.

It looked exactly like the sort of business card you would expect him to have look like.

"Book shop? Yeah, that doesn't surprise me." Dean said, passing the card back to Sam, who set it on the table.

"I know I've heard of Tadfield before, it was something big, but I can't remember what..." Sam told him, shutting the door and sitting on his bed.

"Don't ask me, I've never heard of the place." Dean said, going for the whiskey. "Want some?"

Sam looked a little disappointed. 

Dean groaned. "Ugh, fine! What do you want to do, then?"

"Uhh…" Sam stalled, trying to think of just one thing they could do. "Let's... Witches! That's why Tadfield sounds familiar -- there was a list of links on one of the websites I was on trying to gather research, and I ended up on this witch finder guy's archaic looking page. Lots of interesting stuff, actually. Almost entirely b.s., but it's entertaining."

"Fascinating, can we move on?" Dean snapped.

He looked frustrated with himself, and he covered his face with his hands. "I think I'm gonna try for that nap again, okay, Sammy?"

Sam cleared his throat. "If you need me..."

"Yeah." Dean said, tears beginning to run down his cheeks.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean tried getting them to stay just a little longer, when Crowley had clicked his fingers and disappeared.

Aziraphale, however, remained. "This hadn't been intention at all, I'm very sorry." He looked at them both guiltily, toying with one of his buttons absentmindedly. "The problem was that I had suspected the angel Dean had met with so often would turn out to be, well, another angel. One who would mean _very_ bad news."

"So, you call for your boyfriend?" Dean shot, feeling irrationally angry now.

"This wasn't how it was meant to go, again, I am very sorry." Aziraphale tried again. "Perhaps I could make it up to you both. I'm great friends with a charming young lady in a rather lovely little town. She runs a bed and breakfast, and owes me a favour. I could ask her to waive your bill for a few days, if you like. I think it would do you a particular amount of good." He looked Dean in the eyes. "What do you think? I'm on my way there this evening, in fact. I'm sure it'd be possible to give you a lift."

Sam knew that he'd heard that name before, and tried to remember why.

Dean noticed how quiet Sam had been. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "It's nothing, just going over something in my head, that's all."

"If you're sure." Dean said with a shrug. "What do you think?"

Sam hesitated. "Um, maybe we could talk it over, just the two of us, and then give you a call in, like, an hour with our answer?" 

Aziraphale reached into his jacket pocket, taking out his business card and passing it to Sam.

"You own a book store? Nice." Sam told him.

"Thank-you, yes, it is a wonderful job! Well, I'd best be off." Aziraphale smiled at him, before giving them a little wave and walking out.

Aziraphale caught sight of Crowley leaning the trunk of a tall tree, arms crossed and looking surly.

"And, what took you so long?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale approached.

The angel _knew_ those were friends of his enemy, and still chose to banter on with them!

"Oh, I had thought it only proper to apologise." Aziraphale replied.

It was true enough; that had been the initial reason he'd stayed.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind the dark round sunglasses. "Mm-hmm. Look, since we're out anyway, how does lunch sound?"

"It sounds like you should eat, although I did just have lunch. I'd be most happy to keep you company, however." Aziraphale said with a smile.

"It's fine, no big deal." Crowley replied. "I've got work to do anyway, should get going pretty soon."

Aziraphale tilted his head. "Please, don't go back to that hotel. I know you don't like them, but..."

Crowley's left eyebrow shot up his forehead. "Sorry, what is it you think I'm going to do?" He asked, and Aziraphale blinked.

"I merely want to avoid conflict, that's all I'm trying to say." 

Crowley sighed. "Yes, I know. I just thought I'd make sure their angel doesn't plan on showing up, see what I can find out from putting my ear to the ground."

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come.

Crowley waited, adjusting his glasses.

"The thing is, Crowley, I may have offered them a ride this evening." Aziraphale said, not having thought this part of his idea quite through. 

"Oh, really?" Crowley asked more softly, nodding his head.

"Er, well, yes. To Tadfield." Aziraphale went on, as Crowley looked more and more unimpressed with each and every syllable. "You see, it seemed like a kind thing to do to offer them a few days at Anathema's bed and breakfast. Besides, she and Newton could use the word of mouth, having only just opened up the place."

"Hmm, it's entirely too bad you don't own a car, then, isn't it?" Crowley stated, turning and starting to head south.

Aziraphale went along with him. "Please, Crowley."

"You do realise there's no possibly way I'm going to say yes to this?" Crowley asked, almost looking amused. "I'm sorry, angel, but forget it. I'm having nothing more to do with them. Or, anyone else that might pop up."

Aziraphale looked disappointed. "I can't say that I blame you." He admitted, deciding he'd simply schedule a cab if Sam and Dean took him up on his offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment and thank you all for taking the time to read this story, it means a lot. And, thank-you especially to everyone leaving kudos and comments.
> 
> You're all grand!


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